Tiny hands, Big love

motherhood, pregnancy

His tiny body wriggles, coos and cries in his rocker. When I picked him up a few hours ago, his crying mouth closed and he fell promptly asleep once his head hit my chest. His little hands clung to the top of my t-shirt. I started to cry because I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything or anyone as much as I love this tiny little baby I created.

🌈

He is so small and entirely reliant on us. Every whimper and cry is a secret code we are left to decipher. Other parents tell me, he will teach you so much about the world and about life. I have loved many things and many people intensely but never as much as this baby boy.

The birth was about a week ago, the same date as my own fathers birthday. A sweet homage- November 30th. I’ve never been in so much pain before, between the pregnancy itself and the end of it. 30 ounces of blood lost, 5 hours of active labor, 4 nights in the hospital, and a vaginal tear later and we are home with our beautiful little human. His eyes dart around, he often is looking around with an air of disapproval. A grumpy little thing. Still so beautiful.

My greatest work of art. I spend a lot of time staring at him. I hope to take this big love and use it to fuel a new generation of creativity, between the lack of sleep, and inspiration in how brand new he is, and the responsibility of molding him into a full grown human.

woman immediately after giving birth
5:40 pm November 30th 2018 ; holding baby

I haven’t been painting anything, and I hope the reasons why have been obvious. I am going to be slowly increases updates after I return from my maternity leave to work and the internet. Feel free to check out the gallery for the latest works up until now!

3 Weeks, 5 Days left with this body in my body.

pregnancy

It’s not that I really consider the estimated due date an exact science or even remotely infallible. I just want my body back.

This is all that I have in my mind to consider his arrival date. This is the gift I have been given since week 12 of my pregnancy. It’s all I have to look forward to.

I can’t sleep, my hands , fingers and wrists are so swollen. My belly contains the universe for one little human, waiting for validity and the greetings of the earth.

Within my body is another body, another rib cage, another set up legs, a heart beating blood and massive nets of skin.

Eyes, a nose, two fists, two arms, a mouth.

To say that I am scared is an understatement. I’ve lost my nerves, I am trying to remain calm but the changes in my life will be unparalleled. The other part of this is excitement, to have my autonomy back and my body back, just mine.

I’ll share it occasionally, but not 24/7 for nine entire months as I have been. I’m not inclined to to lie, I am extremely scared of the challenge involved in this.  Longing for the constant partnership it will take to do this together. I don’t know if I can do it alone. I don’t want to be challenged to find out.

I’ve been unable to sleep, and it’s out of my control so I guess I’ll continue to not sleep.

Everything is waiting for you, Axle. My Christmas gift this year will be your beautiful little fresh born face. In the meantime, I’ll try to negotiate with the pains that are associated with your in utero growth. This pregnancy is killing me and I’m waiting on you to give me new life.

In the meantime, talk soon. Check out the gallery while I’m busy growing a person.

ciao.

Stripping away my identity, one day at a time

pregnancy, writing

That’s what the past 6 months have felt like. My identity will replaced to the slavery of child rearing. My life will soon no longer revolve around me, only my own whims and desires. Soon, a brand new child will come into the world. 

As a self-proclaimed wild-card, this is a bit much to accept. I’m 29 years old this year and still feel like a child myself, stumbling around life.

This could be me at 24, tripping in the woods and dipping my toes in the springs. I’m paying close attention to the ripples that start from my toes and end nowhere, around the planet, everywhere. 

I’d like to think the ripples extended themselves all the way to the point in my life where I met my partner in Eugene.

To the point when he impregnated me during a cold night in Boise, and to the moment right now where I’m typing with my laptop propped up against my very large belly.

Our son could kick the laptop off my lap in a violent kick of his tiny legs if he really wanted to, and the fact that he hasn’t says something. 

I am scared I won’t be myself anymore, I’ll just become a mother. It should be fine to have a reduction from an individual woman to a mother.  But in my stomach, it does not feel fine. My obligations are daunting. I should feel that If thats what it takes then I’ll do it. I will disintegrate. 

But for me, growing up, it was never like that. 

Something about my childhood is that we always knew our place. We knew that 

My parents had passions beyond raising us.

For my father, music was his passion.

He loved playing guitar more than anything in the world, more than spending time with us, more than anything. He shared his gift and passion with us and with the world and it is beautiful to me. We all knew our dad, Billy Bongster. 

Dad loved to play music, & smoke pot and that was fine and it inspired us to find our own passions in life. For me, that was always art. She loved to have fun, and she is truly a free spirit. Always dancing, going on adventures, immersing herself in self love and exploration.

I want to raise my child in the same way, to know that mommy loves to paint and daddy loves to skate and we love him to the ends of the earth.

It’s important to me that he develops a passion for something in life. He should know we’re here to help him find his way. I get lost thinking about this tiny fetus that will eventually grow into an adult. An adult who will be around long after I am gone from this planet. 

Based on current data projections, his life expectancy is 76 years old. Having been born in the year 2018, he will lie through the year 2094. I can only hope.  Born to me is a child of the future. How much has life changed for us born in the late 80s and early 90s? Everything I am experiencing is already obsolete. 

Life changed a lot for our parents and our grandparents. It’s a massive duty to raise a human to love and protect our earth and to understand intimately how our actions drive both positive and negative change.

Unsure how well we will do as parents or how well the planet will fare, I’m riddled with anxiety. This isn’t based on just our influence, but influence of everyone carrying new life right now. Those that have birthed in recent years and will in the near future.  “Is it even a good idea to give birth right now?,” our Senator Alexandria Ocasio~Cortez asks recently.  I think the same things and it makes me feel guilty. 

All that I can do is promise him, myself, my partner and the universe this: I will do my best. and will continue to be myself and project my energies into the world. My hopes for a positive change are forever unwavering. 

A son, shining in the hot summer sky

pregnancy, writing

My son.

It’s a nice finishing touch of a thought I’ve had since I found out. What else is there to discover? I have just about 4 months to go before I meet my son. What a nervous feeling this is. I wonder if you’ll identify with that, assigned gender, and I wonder if you’ll be healthy.  I wonder what color eyes you’ll have, and if you’ll be as enamored with music and art as I am.

July 24th, it was a Tuesday. Thats when I went for an anatomical scan with Shane.  To further add more traits to the child growing in my womb. “Oh wow. He has quite large testicles, it’s definitely a boy”, the nurse exclaimed. My fiance smirked and said something funny.

It’s strange and fascinating to me that while growing in my womb, tumbling and kicking and roaming about in the limited expanse of his universe, I am out here on earth struggling to sleep, too.

I wonder if you’ll share my father’s birthdate, or if you’ll have a sense of humor like your own father.

A sense of athleticism.

I wonder all kinds of things, with each stroke of the paint brush. I’m trying to keep busy inside, at least. Check out the new art in the meantime. I’ve been quite productive with a commission by my good friend Frank Wood.

I was go display at the Indigo arts festival, but pain kept me home. I used it as an excuse to paint for weeks before the event. “I’ve gotta paint today” I lament to my Fiance, ‘please berate me if I don’t paint”.

He asked me a month after the event, when was that again? I slept in, all day, didn’t go. painted for me, not for anyone else. It’s been like that a lot. I had no idea pregnancy would bring this kind of pain. Crippling pain, I’m the frozen green bean queen with a pack of frozen vegetables on my head to ease the swelling in my brain. These constant migraines are killing me. I guess thats it. The little death. Le petit morte. I’m dying so that I can bring into the world a brand new life.

I’m listening to trip hop lightly on the couch in a cold, cold room with my crown of frozen vegetables trying to avoid light and movement. My vision is blurred, I’m dizzy, I hate this and on top of that I feel guilt. Everyone I know is depressed. Is society ever going to get better? Is it even a fair to invite another human onto the planet in this state? It’s making me feel terrible, and more obligated than ever to try contributing personally to the “good things” you can do as a human to make earth better. How do we as a world abolish scarcity and do better and provide for everyone that exists? Why don’t we all recognize that its the only way for the future?

If nothing else, my child will make me work harder for this. I don’t know how to solve the problem and bring everyone on the same page. People like working, but there’s nothing to do anymore for them.

Jobs nowadays are creating and managing systems, integrating technology into the fabrics of society that have existed for millennia.

These are my thoughts lately. “I’ve never been in this much pain in my life.” “I can’t believe this is really happening in (the United States).” “I feel so in love.”

I’ve been able to make art lately. Check it out at the art page if you please. I’ll update soon, I’m here with passion pit and a migraine until next time, sweet friends. <3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

pregnancy

I suppose.. ( about my digital footprint)

pregnancy, writing

 I suppose when you get to a certain age, you start realizing you’ve been putting efforts into the wrong things.

For whatever reason, this week I read through all of my previous posts. The digital footprints I’ve littered across the internet. I’m too conscious to ever litter in the real world.

This kind of litter, I guess it’s not that bad compared to a plastic grocery bag a turtle might get caught up in. Or an old Dr. Pepper can of soda that becomes the eventual home to a school of fish larvae in the gulf.

Various moods, visuals, different pains resulted from different situations. Romantic partners and goals that have swallow me up and spit me back out. It’s like I’m constantly treading the harsh waves of the Atlantic ocean.

Hello, I am Camille and I feel sad. Happy. Ecstatic. Terrified. Angry. I’m feeling all kinds of ways.

I thought 2014 was as hard as things could get for me. I didn’t know the capacity for pain life carries with it back then.

Definitely didn’t expect to have to deal with drug addiction in my family again. Not with a sibling. I never anticipated a nephew that has to grow up in an environment even worse than was the situation was for me and my siblings.

Never imagined that kind of pain a little boy that survived despite the world working against him from birth would bring me. It drove me away from my home state of which I love.

It’s cold out here, but at least I don’t know anyone and the pain ain’t so close to my heart.

Unable to drive up the street and look at it. There is suddenly no need to see those tattoos, those track marks, those rotting teeth looking back at me. Asking to borrow money, for my forgiveness, saying cruel things.

That they could become such significant stressors to me was mind boggling. Even from 3,000 miles away, eating away at me until I can’t take it anymore and just cry.

Into my pillows, a strong shoulder, whatever is available. Grow up, be a woman, you’re almost 30 years old, I tell myself.

This all feels so unfair.

Unsure of who to talk to, who could I talk to? They just say “I’m sorry” and I am sorry too because it’s a problem that can’t be fixed. If ever I had an enemy, that entire situation would be it.

I want to shake the world and find peace in the hearts of the people I love but my hand keeps getting bitten.

My heart turns cold and it just hurts and hurts and hurts.

Trying to let go is hard.

All of the effort put into others was misdirected.

Yeah, I can proudly say I broke out of my “caste system” and made something of myself. but I still feel incomplete.  Like I left my soul somewhere on the floor and left the room and left the house and left the state and now I don’t have one anymore.

My soul has become a puddle somewhere that gets stepped on and ignored and is more or less a mess that no one will ever clean up.

Perhaps it’s too late to get that soul back, but I found a way to build a new one.

Stop paying mind to everything that hurts and build a love inside myself.

Cells multiplying every day, cells made out of love and maybe some biological material and DNA too but mostly love.

Rebuilding my own soul is tiring work.

Sometimes I think it’s probably the worst feeling I’ve ever felt.

It’s rebuilding something I lost a long time ago, and so the exhaustion, it’s probably worth it to me. It will be my greatest work of art. The building of a brand new soul.